


Sinking Down

by Tortellini



Series: Comm*ssions [4]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Commission fic, Developing Friendships, Drama, Epic Friendship, F/M, Fear, Female Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Horror, Major Original Character(s), Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Prompt Fic, Psychological Horror, Requests, Romantic Friendship, Wordcount: 500-1.000, commission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 00:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15983780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tortellini/pseuds/Tortellini
Summary: (Commission Fic)Lark, newcomer to the infamous Losers Club, gets reluctantly dragged into the old Niebolt House for the second time this summer. Things go considerably worse than the first time though.Oneshot/drabble





	Sinking Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Up_Until_3am](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Up_Until_3am/gifts).



Lark was just getting used to things sort of being normal again. She said sort of because with how everything was before, she didn't really think it would ever be anyone else's normal. She couldn't even talk about it all that much because who the hell would believe her, first of all? 

Some killer clown was behind the disappearances of all those little kids? Of Betty Ripsom, with her curls and her doe eyes...and poor Georgie Denbrough--

The phone rang. 

* * *

"This is such a bad idea." 

This was Stan Uris, of course. His arms were crossed tightly over his skinny chest, face pinched with uneasiness. Lark and Mike Hanlon on either side of him spared him a glance. To be fair Mike looked a little more sympathetic than she herself felt. 

But Lark didn't disagree with Stan either, actually. There was no reasonable way she wanted to go into the old Niebolt House. It was cursed, to say the least. That was what kids said. And she and her friends knew that it really was, which made it all the worse. 

But Bev Marsh was down there. They couldn't just do nothing. 

The well was terrifying. All anyone had was one thin rope to hang onto. And Eddie Kaspbrak had a broken arm on top of that! 

"...I'm not going first." Lark said. She had to say it. 

"I-I'll go." Bill said then, as firmly as he could. He was trying to be brave for them. 

True to his word, Bill went down first, and then Eddie. Ben, Richie, Stan. Lark took a deep breath; Mike nodded reassuringly. She wasn't as reassured as she might've liked though, to be honest. Lark started to climb down the rope. It was scary, and rough beneath her hands, but the rest of the others had done it. She needed to do it too. 

Yelling started up above. 

She wanted to stop and look up, but she was afraid that if she moved around too much that she might lose her grip. What was going on?

"Mike! Mike!"

And then she heard Henry Bowers' voice. He was the last person she wanted to see right now. He sounded...he sounded insane. There was no other way to describe it--her mind raced with terror and she couldn't think too easily either. 

He grabbed the rope, and tugged.

* * *

There was a hole right when she needed it, and Lark scrabbled, her nails bloody, to get there before Bowers did--what? Dragged her up? Came down after her? She didn't know what had happened to Mike. Mike was strong though, she tried to comfort herself weakly with that. He wouldn't have let anything happen to himself. They needed him. Stan needed him.

Come to think of it though, she couldn't see any of the others either. Her eyes strained to see Eddie, or Ben, or Bill. No one. 

Was she lost in the sewer now? 

"...guys? Guys?"

Lark paused, furrowing her eyebrows slightly. Then: 

"Stan?"

Slowly, slowly, the figure of her friend appeared in the dark. In retrospect, maybe she should've stopped and been suspicious. He could've just been a figure of her imagination or worse: the clown. But his face was pale, and his eyes were wide. Usually so clean and well kept. Now he looked scared, just like she did. 

"I can't find them." He said. His arms were crossed again. Nervous. Nervous habit. "They were just here, I can't find them, they-they were just  _here,_ oh my god--"

"Stan," she said then. Lark couldn't just stand here while he freaked out. She was scared too. But they had to find the others. "We're not alone. We'll find them."

He didn't say anything. They started to walk, their footfalls slow and wet on the floor. 

Suddenly though, something else made a sound. They had a light--Stan's hand was shaking so hard though--and before Lark could say it might not be the best idea, not right now, not yet--he called out again. 

"Guys--"

Something rushed at him.

* * *

Lark didn't think she'd ever seen her friend's fear. Any of them, to be more specific. It was sort of cool, in such a sick way. To see something so personal of someone else... This horrible woman with her deformed, distorted face, her long hands rushing at Stan--

"No!" 

She had to do something! 

_Stanley. Stan, with his birds, his small reluctant smile, a_ _kippah neatly on top of all of those curls--_

There was nothing she could do, but he had stopped struggling. She couldn't let him die. 

"No--stop--let him go--"

He had stopped struggling and the thing looked at her. She knew she was next. And then the woman changed. 

Her face looked more human, but only just. Her skin was dark and cracked, oozing with sores. Long hair was falling out in clumps. Dark eyes were glassy and drugged. Lark couldn't take her eyes off of her, even though deep down a part of her knew it really was just the clown. Her hands shook like Stan's had; he would be no help, but she couldn't blame him. You can't have bad thoughts about the dead. 

She recognized the face. Her mother. 

What she herself would look like if she was a crackhead like her. That's what scared her. 

Footsteps behind her came up, and she knew she was going to die then. But something else happened instead the woman--the clown--smiled, and backed up slightly. Then she--It--was gone again. 

Lark turned. She couldn't breathe. Arms enveloped her, and she sagged, sobbing, letting herself cry for the first time since everything had happened. At least that's what it felt like right now. She knew Stan needed it more than she did, but she couldn't pull away. 

Richie Tozier pulled away slightly when Stan woke up. But the others were with him. He held Lark tightly, clumsily, true to his own nature. His glasses left a mark on his cheek from where they were smushed. 

Slowly, Lark's breathing returned. She was alive. So was Stan. And with a glance around, she saw that Mike was too. 

They were all okay. For now at least. 

But now they had to find Beverly.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey bros, if you liked this or like the idea of me writing a shit ton of literally whatever you'd like: comment on this or email me @ furfsh51@aol.com (see social media in bio) if you'd like me to write a commission for you!


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